


Winner Takes All

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Clothed Sex, Cullenlingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Times, experienced Josie, inexperienced Cullen, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: “You’re trying to seduce me,” he murmured, raising his glass. Cullen hesitated, struck with nerves, with the possibility of being wrong, with the knowledge that he had just flung himself off a precipice to which he might not be able to return. Something somewhere around his navel clenched painfully tight. “Are—aren’t you?”After his embarrassed, naked escape from the Herald's Rest following an eventful game of Wicked Grace, Cullen goes to Josie for his clothes and gets so much more than he bargained for.





	Winner Takes All

**Author's Note:**

> For Cullenvhenan on Tumblr. Thanks, babe! <3 I hope you love it!

_“Never bet against an Antivan, Commander.”_

Josie’s words rang in Cullen’s ear as he resolutely focused on his never-ending paperwork. The look of sheer delight on her face had sent a wave of heat—wholly unrelated to the drinks he’d been convinced to take—to burn across his cheeks; it had yet to abate, even an hour later, after their little group had disbanded to finish off the night on their own accord.

He stopped, struck by an overwhelming thought: had it been simply the light, or had Josephine’s eyes always been that deep, that molten as when she leaned across the table toward him?

A stiff, cold breeze snaked into his office to ruffle his work and interrupt his musings. Damn him, now his paperwork was askew, and he only had himself to blame for not securing the door against the night’s chill. Cullen’s frown grew only deeper as he corralled his paperwork, using nearby books to weigh down the stacks before striding to the door.

The chill stole beneath the thin barrier of his clothes, a sharp reminder of the loss of his fur surcoat and mantle. Josephine had set no terms to her taking his clothing and armor, and, fool that he was, Cullen gave no thought to it, either; he’d only focused on making it back to his tower office with as few people witnessing his embarrassed flight as possible.

“Josie is a reasonable, honorable woman,” he mused aloud, looking out at the fortress’ main body. “Surely she can be persuaded…” Cullen pondered the hour for a moment; they all had their work, the Inquisitor’s advisors, and each admitted—albeit reluctantly—to keeping late nights and early mornings to keep up with it all.

She’d be awake, Cullen concluded. It wasn’t unheard of for her to be working long after midnight. The matter settled, he stole into the night, taking care to properly close the door behind him before making toward the keep proper.

The rotunda was empty, with only sconces of magical veilfire to light his way. It always gave Cullen an uneasy feeling about his middle. He crossed the room with hurried steps, eager to get into the more earth-born light of the braziers of the Great Hall.

“Surprised to see you in public so soon, Curly. Here to listen to the show?”

Varric’s words caught him by surprise as he came through the door. Cullen turned to find Varric at his customary table, warmed by the low fire behind him. “The show?” Cullen asked.

“Give it a minute,” was the enigmatic reply. Varric returned to his writing under Cullen’s confused gaze.  

“I need to—”

“I'm sure it can wait. You’re going to wanna hear this, I promise. Would I lie to you?”

“Frequently,” Cullen said, frowning, but he stayed at Varric’s insistence. “What exactly am I waiting for?”

Varric grinned. It reminded Cullen of a cat, one who knew where the cream was kept and only waited on its own terms. “You’ll find out soon, I expect.” Varric’s smile turned conspiratorial, flinty. “She plays after she’s had an exceptionally good day, I’ve noticed. And having witnessed her triumph in all its glory, I’d say today falls in that category, easy.”

Cullen shook his head. “You have the peculiar habit of opening your mouth and not actually saying anything.”

“So I’ve been told! It’s a writer thing,” Varric said, his laughter booming through the quiet hall. “Comes with the territory.” He cut off his own chuckles with a raised hand and, hushed, said, “Oh, here we go. Go on, get closer.”

He shooed Cullen toward the far side of the hall with a wave. Cullen followed, nonplussed; did the Inquisitor play an instrument in the middle of the night? Members of the night staff busied themselves as he passed, offering furtive glances at his muttered greetings.

Then he heard it—the trilling of strings, an eddying of music that seeped into the Great Hall. It wasn’t from the Inquisitor’s tower, he realized, but from the open door to the corridor that led to Josephine’s suite and the War Room.

“Oh,” he murmured under his breath, awed. It was beautiful, a slow-quick-slow melody that caught Cullen at his breastbone and pulled him forward. He slipped through the door and padded to the similarly open door of Josephine’s office, his booted footsteps providing a neat counter time to the melody.

She was laughing when he reached the door, bright peals of happiness that shone golden in Cullen’s imagination. He spied into the room as if compelled. Josephine sat on the edge of her desk, feet propped daintily on a chair, dressed only in a dark blue chemise and his fur mantle. A dark lacquered lute lay across her body as she plucked at its strings, hands moving in graceful concert. She hummed when she didn’t laugh, occasional words forming.

“You can come in, if you’d like, instead of spying through the door like a boy,” Josephine said, between one laugh and the next, turning her gaze to where Cullen stood. He pushed open the door shamefacedly.

“I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t—good evening, my— _Maker’s breath._ Hello, Josie.”

“Good evening, Cullen.” Her hands stilled but she didn’t get up, eyeing him appreciatively. Josie's smile fanned an ember of heat in his gut. “What brings you so late?”

“I didn’t know you played the lute.” Cullen focused on the instrument, on the way her hands curled around its form. She shrugged; the elegant motion brought into stark relief the way her bare shoulders were clothed only by his mantle. He resolutely tore his eyes from the sight and shifted on his feet nervously.

“All the Montilyet heirs are masters of at least three instruments.” Josephine set the lute on the desk beside her and slid gracefully to her feet. “I prefer the violin, and I play the pianoforte, as well. Do you play an instrument?”

Cullen shook his head. “Never had the opportunity. Honnleath had an occasional minstrel visit, but we were—are—a farming village.” He sat at her invitation and watched as she moved to a nearby cabinet to produce glasses and a dark bottle of brandy. Cullen raised a brow.

Josephine smiled. “Nightcap?”

“At this hour?” he said, though he nodded all the same. The liquid shimmered like molten gold in the light.

“It’s night,” she defended with a laugh. Josephine handed him a short glass and clinked them together in a wordless toast before perching on the desk once more. “So what did bring you down from your tower, Commander?”

He sipped at his brandy and tried—and failed—to stifle a low groan of appreciation at the rich taste. Cullen cleared his throat at the burn that scorched across his face. “I, ah. I had hoped to see you if you were awake. You had said, before, that I am always welcome...”

“And here we are.”

“And here we are,” he echoed. Cullen watched the way her throat worked around a delicate sip of her drink. “I…” He trailed off when she shifted, the thin fabric of her gown falling lax over her lap to drape across her thighs.

And Maker, her thighs. And hips. And calves, bared to his gaze. And her upper chest, and her throat, and… Maker’s breath.

“Cat got your tongue, Cullen?” Josephine teased, and he blushed bright red, he could just _feel_ it. She drained the last of her drink and set it down somewhere to her side. “Would you like a lesson?”

“A—a lesson?”

“On the lute.”

Cullen darted his gaze between Josephine’s face—Maker, don’t stare, he told himself, only at her face, she’s a _lady—_ and the instrument in question. “Sure,” he said weakly,  breathless at the way she moved from her perch. He scooted the chair backward at her instruction and let Josephine arrange him before draping the lute in his lap.

It could have been a wriggling, hungry dracolisk for all he cared. He wasn’t focused on the thing.

Josie stood behind him, leaning over him in a way that pressed her breasts against the blade of his shoulder. She took his hands and positioned them over the neck and body of the lute. “You play it like this,” she murmured as she flexed his fingers for him. Together they plucked out discordant chords and she smoothed them into something angling more toward musical. “See? Just like that.”

His mouth twisted in a slight frown as he stared down at their joined hands. Her fingers were so slender, so graceful compared to his own, rough from work. Cullen could feel the way a callous threatened her dominant hand, no doubt the result of her duties.

Cullen’s mind wandered without him. What would her fingers feel like dragging along his skin?

“—and this,” she murmured, her breath warm against the skin of his cheek, “this is how you would play this chord.” Josephine shifted his hand along the strings at the lute’s neck and tapped his free hand to strum. The noise came out closer to what it meant to be that time. “You have the idea. Just like that.”

“I always strive to be a quick study,” he said absently, warmed by her light praise. Cullen shivered when she stepped away.

“Another brandy?”

Cullen didn’t look up, instead plucked out another set of mostly-jarring notes. “Are you trying to get me drunk, my lady?”

“It’s brandy, Cullen. A man such as you…” she trailed off on a soft sigh.

He looked up. Josie’s hazel gaze raked over his body without shame. Cullen could feel the weight of her study, the way his skin felt too tight beneath his clothes, his blood rushing in his ears. “Such as me?” he prompted, tongue-tied and restless. Cullen set the lute carefully on the desk.

“...It would take more than a snifter or two of brandy to get you drunk, I would expect, even after a night such as this.” A blush stole over Josephine’s face and hit him like a punch to the gut. She busied herself in pouring out another drink and returning his somehow stolen glass. “To victories hard-won,” she murmured, tapping the rim of her glass against his.

Cullen watched from over the rim of his snifter as she draped herself along the edge of the desk once more. Maker, but she was graceful, fluid and lithe. And the way she stared back at him, a deep smile curling her mouth as she drank…

“May I be candid, Josie?” Cullen’s stomach clenched in knots.

She nodded and set her glass aside. “I would greatly appreciate it.”

His fingers shifted on his glass. He studied the way the brandy swirled in the snifter. “Sometimes, when you look at me… I’m not sure how to interpret that. If I should at all.”

Josie leaned forward. The neckline of her nightgown gaped with her movements, and the light played along the curves of her body. “Oh? And how does that make you feel?”

“...unsure.” The admission fought against the wariness that grew in his chest. Cullen resolutely kept his eyes on his glass as she settled. “I had misunderstood some things earlier in life, as a youth. Misinterpreted intentions. Hurt myself and—and my friend, with what I didn’t understand.”

Cullen searched Josie’s face, wishing he could divine her intentions from the curve of her smile and the brightness of her eyes. She urged him to continue with a wave of her hand. “You’ll say things, things I would expect to hear… elsewhere,” he hedged. “From someone else— _to_ someone else—and…”

“And, Cullen?” Josie prompted, voice soft.

“You’re trying to seduce me,” he murmured, raising his glass. Cullen hesitated, struck with nerves, with the possibility of being wrong, with the knowledge that he had just flung himself off a precipice to which he might not be able to return. Something somewhere around his navel clenched painfully tight. “Are—aren’t you?”

The words came out softer than he liked. Josie’s gaze turned sharp, focused, as it roamed his face. She slid from her perch and stood before him; a shrug had the fur of his mantle slip carelessly down her shoulders to catch at her elbows and reveal the creamy skin it had hidden.

Josephine raised a dark brow. “Is it working?”

The nerves that had knotted in his belly melted away. A bolt of heat lanced through him, blood rushing to his ears and pounding loudly. Cullen’s mouth went dry at the deliberate sway of Josie’s hips. He wanted to reach out; she was so close he could touch her, he could—

But he could, now, Cullen realized; she had all but admitted to her advances.

“Maker, yes,” he breathed, and the words brought a smile to Josephine’s face to rival any brilliant sunrise.

“Good,” she murmured. Josie stepped forward into the vee of his thighs and cupped his face in her hands, uncaring of the day’s growth that surely scratched against her soft palms. “I would hate for all this to have been in vain.”

Her mouth was silk-soft where it met his own, gentle in her demands. Cullen’s hands rose to her waist and she made a pleased noise that caught between them. Josie licked delicately at the seam of his mouth; he could not help but open to her on a strangled whine.

The first slick touch of her tongue against his sent a rush of fire through his veins to pool at his groin. Josie tilted his head to plunder his mouth, her hands moving to clutch at his shoulders, and she pressed further into him, climbing into his lap as best as the chair would allow. Cullen gasped when she rubbed herself against the rapidly-growing hardness of his cock trapped within his breeches. Josie only seemed to become more insistent at the noise, biting at his bottom lip and rocking into him.

“Josie,” he groaned, hands lowering to grip tight on her hips through his stolen fur coat. He rutted into her, tentative in spite of her determined motions. Cullen felt the shape of her smile against his mouth. “Josie, wait—”

Josephine pulled back, eyes bright and _hungry_ as they swept over his face. Cullen’s gaze caught on the plumpness of her mouth, the slick shine of her lips, the heaving of her chest. Her fingers squeezed at the meat of his shoulders.

“Yes?” she asked, voice husky; the sound went straight to his throbbing cock.

“I—I must confess something before this goes… wherever it goes.” His face flared up with a red-hot blush that almost distracted him from the way she shifted in his lap, pressing herself fully against his groin. Cullen struggled not to turn away from her gaze. “I’ve not done this very many times,” he explained, closing his eyes. “It was—a long time ago, the last time, and I fear... “

He trailed off, embarrassed. It has been since Kirkwall—before he was promoted to Knight-Captain under Meredith’s leadership and had every waking moment consumed by the weight and responsibilities of his position. He and another Templar had met only on two rushed, furtive occasions before risk and discomfort grew too great to ignore. Even before that, Cullen hadn’t had the opportunity, living in a dorm full of young men at Kinloch Hold, and yet another before that at the monastery at which he trained.

“How long, if I may ask?”

“Ah, some six, maybe seven years.” Josephine stilled at that, and his enthusiasm wavered. “I...” he tried, his hands lifting from her hips when she made no move to respond. “I don’t… If you don’t want...”

Josie searched his face, a frown pinching at her dark brows. “Cullen,” she murmured, “do you want this?” Her hand rose to gesture between them. “Truly want this, between us?”

Cullen’s mouth grew dry. _“Yes,”_ came his breathy response. A slow smile curved across her lips. He couldn’t help the noise that escaped him when Josie leaned forward to take his mouth for her own, full, deep, and filthy in her possession.

“Then it doesn’t matter, all that came before,” she murmured against his lips. Josie nibbled at his bottom lip and pulled before releasing. “Come to bed?”

Cullen dipped his head to chase after the kiss. “Maker, yes.” His arms wrapped around the small of her back and in a smooth motion, he rose to his feet, one hand tucking under her arse and the other urging her legs to wrap around his waist. The quick motions jostled a startled laugh from her, breathy and high. Josephine clung to him as Cullen ate up the distance to her bedroom door.

They were a tangle of mouths and limbs by the time they hit the bed, Cullen sparing barely a thought to close the door behind them. Josie pushed him to recline against her pillows and his senses were filled with her—her scent, her touch, her taste, the sounds she made into his mouth. Cullen cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbs finding the stiff peaks of her nipples and rolling them gently between his fingers.

It was the right thing to do, he decided when she gave a broken moan and straddled his lap, the silk of her nightgown and his mantle riding up her thighs. Josie laid her hands over his own. She directed his movements, trailing their interlaced fingers over the thin fabric that separated them.

“Like this,” she gasped, arching into his touch. Cullen gave a tentative squeeze that grew sure at the noises she made. “Yesss,” she hissed.

Emboldened, Cullen sat up and drew Josephine fully against him, one hand dropping to grip her hip when she rubbed against his clothed cock. His fingers teased at the hem of her gown before roaming to find her bare beneath the silk.

Josie rolled her hips and arched back, pulling a rough noise from Cullen’s throat. He bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth, licking through the fabric of her nightgown and pinching the other between his fingers. Josie’s hands flew to his head and she buried her fingers in the unkempt curls of his hair.

“Just like that.” Josie’s low moan grew sharp when Cullen scraped his teeth over her breast, catching on the pebbled nub. She tugged at his hair and the sensation sent a cascade of fire to sweep through him. His skin felt too tight, too hot under her, his clothes chafing and restrictive.

“Josie, Josie, Josie—”

He chanted her name like a prayer against her skin. Cullen’s hand at her hip tightened its grip as she bucked against him, and he could feel the heat of her core through the linen of his trousers as they rut together. He shifted to drag both hands under her gown to cup and squeeze the generous softness of her arse. “I—please,” Cullen begged, unsure of what exactly he was asking for, but knowing she could—and would—provide.

She only fumbled for his hand in answer. Josie urged Cullen to tip his head back with a tug on his hair, biting into his mouth at the same time she brought their linked fingers to slide down her belly to the vee of her thighs. He moaned around her tongue and brushed his thumb against the swollen bud of her clit. Cullen couldn’t help but grind into her at the way she trembled against him.

“More,” she demanded, hand tight around his own. Josie leaned back and directed two of his fingers to her slick entrance. They locked eyes. She shifted and impaled herself on his hand, never breaking eye contact.

Cullen had to bite his lip to keep from coming in his breeches just at that, from the feel of her tight cunt around his fingers. It took a moment but he found a rhythm in the grinding of her hips, stroking in time with her. They tumbled backward, still tangled. Cullen braced his weight on his forearm beside her head, her dark hair spilling like ink across her sheets, and thrust his fingers harder into her yielding body.

He swallowed Josie’s cry, slotting his mouth across her own. His thumb stroked her clit as he curled his fingers to press against her walls. Her hands raked down his back, nails digging light furrows through his shirt. Josie shifted, legs spreading impossibly wide, wider, and suddenly she keened. Her pelvis rocked against his hand and urged him harder, faster.

“Just like that, just like that,” she groaned. Josephine trembled beneath him. “ _Dios mio,_ Cullen, more, more, more.”

He pulled away, earning a dismayed cry, before tugging her to the edge of the mattress. He knelt at the floor and caught her knees in his hands. “I want,” he started, watching her rise to lean on her hands, “I want to taste you.”

Josie parted her thighs and he gave a needful sigh at the sight of her, slick with need. He pulled her further toward him and draped her legs over his shoulders. Her heels pressed into his back in her insistence.

Cullen buried his head between her creamy thighs. His tongue traced over her folds, lapping up the musky wetness. It was surely clumsy, a motion he’d only read about in some of the pornographic books he’d confiscated during his tenure at Kirkwall, but he was eager to learn to please. Josie raked the fingers of one hand through his hair, twisting into a loose fist, and adjusted him. He sucked at her clit and brought his fingers back to delve into her cunt. Josie spasmed, her thigh tense against his neck.

“Again,” she demanded breathlessly, rubbing her clit against his mouth. He acquiesced, lips tight around the hard bud, pulling gently before lapping the flat of his tongue from her entrance to her clit. “Harder—Maker, Cullen, _tesoro, please—!”_

He eased a third finger inside her. It was an awkward angle but the shattered moan she gave was worth it. Cullen worked her clit with his tongue and pumped into her. His cock throbbed and ached, weeping into his smalls. He forced himself to ignore it and swirled the tip of his tongue in time to the thrust of his fingers.

Josie’s rocking grew steadily more erratic. Her heels dug painfully into his back and her thighs quaked. She clenched around his fingers, hot and wet and fluttery. Josie used his mouth, her hands holding him still as she ground her clit against his tongue. She shook and bucked and he could only fight to keep up.

Cullen chanced a look up her body. Her eyes were molten glass behind half-mast lids and her mouth twisted into a wordless cry. The fur of his mantle cascaded down her curves and something in him twisted. He doubled up his efforts, moving faster, harder, against her, pulling mewling moans from her with every twist of his hand.

The trembling of Josie’s legs suddenly turned into a full-body clench as she came, her calves trapping Cullen against her. Josephine bucked into his mouth to rub insistently along his tongue. Her cunt was a vise around his fingers and he worked her fluttering channel eagerly, matching her erratic movements as best as he could.

She slowed against him, chest heaving, and a tug at his hair urged him away. Cullen looked up to search her face, rosy and glowing and sweat-slick with pleasure. He opened his mouth to speak only to be cut off by another tug of his hair.

“I want to ride you wearing only your fur coat.” She all but pulled him onto the bed. Her industrious fingers plucked at the belt and lacings of his breeches. Josie licked into his mouth and moaned, stealing the taste of herself from his tongue. “Yes?”

Cullen’s rough curse was smothered between them. He nodded emphatically and pulled off his shirt without thought. Cullen raised his hips to help her shimmy his breeches and smalls down his thighs. His face grew hot at the way Josephine watched when his cock sprang free, insistent and heavy against his stomach. A thick drop of precome welled at the tip under her gaze.  

“Oh,” she said, softly, rocking back on her knees to just stare at him. Her hand rose to her mouth. “Cullen…”

Cullen dropped back from the heights of pleasure-induced mania and back into reality. He only barely kept himself from squirming; his hands curled into fists at his side. Cullen knew the map of his body, with its hills of scar tissue and valleys of gouged-out flesh healed over. A grotesque mimicry of the Order’s blazing sword lay burned into the center of his chest—a hard-won survival against the Desire demon that had tempted him at Kinloch and changed his life forever. She— _it—_ took what was most holy to him and made it an abomination. It was not a perfect recreation anymore; Cullen had picked and scratched and torn at his healing skin in his madness, unwilling to let even the feeblest of healers attend to his hurts after the Warden set the Circle to rights again.

Cullen watched Josephine’s face, waiting for the inevitable—disgust, sometimes, pity most often. His heart hammered in his throat. He should leave, his nerves screamed, loud like alarm bells in his ears. Josie traced her eyes over the network of scarring across his chest and shoulders. His stomach threatened to crawl to his ankles.

“You’re so beautiful. May I?” Her hand stretched out to just above his skin, close enough to feel the warmth of her fingers. He nodded and gave a strangled whimper at her touch.

She was careful in the way her fingertips skirted the edges of the worst of it. Her other hand came to rest on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into the skin there as she explored. “Do they hurt?” Josie asked, half-fascinated in her quiet study.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “They ache sometimes, but other injuries demand my care and attention more often. The worst of it is the sword.” Cullen hesitated. “The life of a Templar is not exactly how I had imagined it as a boy. But the scars themselves do not hurt when touched,” he hurried to add when she lifted her hand away. He grabbed her wrist, pinning her hand to his abdomen. “Josie, I… Please, don’t stop.”

She bent down to brush her lips against his own in a whisper-soft kiss. “Only if you promise me to say if they hurt,” Josie murmured. “One word and we can stop.”

Cullen brought his hands to burrow into the loose waves of her hair. “I promise.” He urged her closer, deepening the kiss once more.

The mattress shifted as Josie moved, draping herself so that they touched everywhere, chest to chest, hip to hip. He swore into her mouth at the drag of silk against his cock when she rolled her pelvis. Any flagging that had happened with the thoughts of the past quickly resolved itself and he throbbed, hot and aching, trapped between them.

“Josie,” he gasped out. She pulled back, rising to her knees, and he followed. Cullen let his hands drift intently up her body, trying to memorize every curve and dip and hollow as he did. Gently, he pushed the fur of his mantle off her shoulders and let it pool around them in a soft hush.

Josephine, with a deep, pleased smile, pulled at the hem of her nightgown. Cullen’s cock twitched unconsciously at the reveal of her thighs, at the way the silk dragged up the soft skin of her belly. She pulled it up over her head and in half a breath she was wholly bare to him. Josie tossed the garment aside, uncaring of where it landed.

“Andraste’s grace, you are… You are exquisite.” Cullen let his hands wander, no longer kept away by the shield of her dress. His fingers smoothed over the lines of her arms, her ribs, her hips, everywhere at once. She rubbed against the muscles of his thighs, her own trembling. Cullen could feel the hot slick of her arousal where they touched.

“Less talking and more action, Commander,” she said breathily. Josie pulled the mantle back on; the coat, many sizes too big, cascaded around her like water. “That’s what you say during our meetings, isn’t it?” Her gaze raked along Cullen’s body with a nearly predatory gleam.

His hands rose to her hips and she pushed him flat. Josephine straddled his hips with a pleased noise and rocked against the hard line of his cock. He watched, fascinated and breathing heavily, as she worked him with short, teasing strokes against her mound. A deep pink flush stole across her face and he rutted into her, hands tight where they cupped her hips.

“Josie, I— _nngh!”_

She groaned his name, low and deep. Josie leaned forward on her knees. With a deft hand, she aligned him under her, stopping just short of breaching. She swore in rushed Antivan. “Still a yes?” Josephine asked, searching his face. “Because we—”

He pulled her down and swore as he entered her. Cullen quickly slid a hand between them to hold himself, pinching at the base to stave off an embarrassingly early end. Josephine settled herself in Cullen’s lap, slowly taking him to the hilt.

“Oh,” she moaned, her voice like honeyed thunder. “Oh, Cullen, yes, yes,  _yes._ ”

When she began to move Cullen saw stars.

Cullen raked his fingers over her thighs as she rode, lifting herself above him only to fall again in long, sinuous movements. Every thrust into her threatened to be his last and he could only hope to last long enough. Josie ground into his lap with every downstroke and murmured his name under her breath.

It was dizzying. He shifted beneath her, bending his knees plant his feet into the forgiving mattress. Cullen dug his fingers into her hips with bruising force and thrust into her tight sheath. “Josie,” he gasped out, gutted, the word more a wounded noise than a proper name. She bent to brace herself against his shoulders and pushed back into every thrust, driving him deeper with every roll of her hips.

He gave a strangled whine. “I—I can’t, I’m going to—”

Josephine shuddered atop him and arched backward over his knees. Her hand delved between her thighs to stroke her fingers quickly over her clit. “Come for me, Commander,” she demanded. “Come, Cullen.”

Cullen groaned. He bucked into her with a handful of faltering thrusts until the clenching of her cunt swept him over the edge. Cullen gave a low, drawn-out moan as he came, clutching her tightly to him and burying himself as deep as he could. She followed shortly after with a shout that echoed on the walls and squeezed tight around him as she shook.

Josie collapsed against him, gasping for breath, hot and sweaty and wearing a satisfied grin. Cullen panted into her hair and wrapped his arms tight around her back over the fur coat.

“Maker,” she laughed, shaky and light, “why haven’t we done this before?” Josephine peppered his face with puckish kisses and nipped playfully at his chin. “We shall simply have to make up for lost time.”

He swore under his breath at the hungry edge to her words. “Give me a minute,” he muttered with a smile. “Need to catch my breath, but then I’m all yours.”

“Just a minute, then.” Josie dragged her fingers over his pecs to tease at his nipples. “I intend to hold you to that.”

Cullen raised his hand to cup her cheek. “You can hold me however you’d like, my lady.” His thumb brushed the kiss-swollen edge of her bottom lip. “For as long as you’d like.”

Her happy laugh trilled between them, only to be lost in another kiss that bled into the next, and the next, and the next.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate comments and kudos, and strive to answer them all! 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [@Ocean-In-My-Rebel-Soul](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow me on Twitter: [@OceanSoulRebel](https://twitter.com/Ocean_SoulRebel)


End file.
